


everybody loves good neighbors

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek and Stiles are Neighbors, Falling In Love, Firefighter Derek, M/M, Professor Stiles, Sleepovers, Taking care of one another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What about an "everything run-down and suddenly a guy falls through the ceiling; now there's a hole in the ceiling of my bedroom"-AU thing? c:<br/>- ANONYMOUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	everybody loves good neighbors

The first time it’s a leg through the kitchen ceiling. 

Derek finishes chewing his mouthful of cereal, stares up at the twitching foot. 

“Uh, little help?”

He stands, pushes the table directly underneath the flailing leg and pushes it back up. A face appears through the hole in the plaster, and it’s a _nice_ face, albeit a little sweaty and shocked looking. 

“Uh, thanks, dude.”

“Derek,” Derek supplies, waves a hand dumbly from where he’s standing on the table. 

“Right, thanks,” the guy grins, and it lights up his face. Derek feels his knees sway a little. “Sorry for interrupting your breakfast.”

“It’s… fine.”

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles waves himself, “You don’t happen to know if the landlord’s around, do you?”

Derek shakes his head with a grimace, “He’s not in the neighbourhood, lives up state.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans, “I don’t trust myself around this hole, shit.”

“I can—” Derek stops himself, but Stiles is already looking down at him hopefully. “I have tools,” he finishes lamely. 

“Oh, really? I don’t wanna put you out or anything.”

“No, it’s okay,” Derek messes with his sweater sleeves, gestures down at his bowl of cereal, “I wasn’t up to much. You’re in 209, right?”

“Yeah, you uh—” Stiles glances up into whatever room he’s in upstairs, bites his lip, “Can you give me five minutes?”

Derek gives him a flat look, “I do have plans, later.”

Sure, it’s a standing sunday lunch date with his sister and Erica, but Stiles doesn’t know that. Stiles is new to the building, and might not yet have cottoned on to the fact Derek is a hermit— and happy about it— he can’t assume Derek’s going to sit around and wait for him all day. 

“No, no! I’m not being ungrateful, it’s just… it’s a mess up here and—” Stiles waves his hand through the hole at Derek’s spotless kitchen, “I don’t want you to break out in hives, or judge me.”

“Your foot just interrupted my breakfast,” Derek smirks, “I’m pretty sure we’re past that, already.”

“Hey! These are my good socks, man!”

Stiles wiggles his toes back through the hole, curses when he notices a tear in said sock. 

“Dude, no! My only good pair of socks!”

Derek snorts, jumps off the table, “Try not to fall through any more floorboards until I’m at least there to catch you.”

“My hero!” Stiles crows loudly as Derek heads for the pantry to get his toolbox.

He can’t help the quick check of his hair as he leaves the apartment— if only because it was sunday morning and he hadn’t bothered styling it— he’s just making sure he looks respectable!

*

Stiles swings back the door to his apartment, bright smile in place, hair dishevelled, soft sweats clinging to his hips and a worn tee stretched across his shoulders. Derek’s insides clench on a brief flurry of want, and then he waves his toolbox up in the air. 

“God,” Stiles laughs, “This is like the start of so many bad pornos.”

Derek arches an eyebrow wordlessly, and Stiles goes bright red. 

“Not because I think you’re coming in here to— because you know you’re not hot— I mean, you _are_ hot, but I wasn’t thinking we were going to—” he slaps his face with the palm of his hand, “I’m going to stop? Using words? Forever?”

Derek grins, “And, I’d suggest cutting down on the bad porn; it hasn’t seemed to give you any decent lines.”

"Oh, now, come on,” Stiles gestures for Derek to follow him into the sparse apartment, edges around an unpacked box. “I’ve been told I’m endearing.”

“Sure.”

“I must be a little charming; you did offer to help me after all.”

“Or, I just wanted you to stop dangling through my ceiling.”

“Logical,” Stiles points at him in agreement, turns to gesture at the hole.

It’s not more than a foot in width, but it’s right in the middle of the kitchen, and Derek clucks his tongue in disapproval.

“I always knew the building was old, but I had no idea it was in a state of such disrepair.”

“Maybe it’s me,” Stiles bemoans, “Bad luck tends to follow me around like a dark, gloomy cloud. In college once, I tripped and fell down the front steps to our lecture theatre, rolled, and then fell down the next set.”

“That’s nothing,” Derek smirks, “When I was seventeen, my sister burst into my room with a clown mask on, and I fell out of the window in shock; broke my arm.”

“Nice,” Stiles nods, “Your sister get in trouble?”

“Yep, she had to drive me around all summer,” he cuts Stiles a glance, “And, I had the sudden urge to visit a lot of places I’d never been before.”

“Oooh, a vengeful streak, alright, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Derek laughs, drops to examine the hole, and Stiles makes a strangled noise behind him.

“Uh, drinks? Coffee? Water? Diet coke?”

“ _Ha ha_.”

“I’m serious! I’m not allowed the good stuff, I get hyper. But, hey, you saw the obvious parallel between them good old fashioned coke adverts and you up here fixing my floor. You totally know this is a cliché set up.”

Derek gets him to make coffee—as he clearly needs something to do with his hands, he keeps waving them in Derek’s direction and it’s distracting Derek from the actual job he came up here to do—and once he’s made some measurements, put across a safe board for Stiles to use in the meantime, he settles in Stiles’ living room with his cup.

“Didn’t you move in like three weeks ago?” he points to the variety of boxes still unpacked in the living room.

“I have a problem,” Stiles confesses gravely as he sits down next to Derek, “I’m _very_ lazy.”

Derek blinks at him, unimpressed, and Stiles’ face cracks into a grin.

“Kidding, shit, those are Scott’s.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah, old roomie, best friend, moved in with his fiancé. I’m gonna be the best man at their wedding near Christmas,” Stiles grins at him, “I started planning the speech, already.”

Derek scratches his chin awkwardly, “I’m a terrible public speaker—at my sister’s wedding I just wished them luck and sat down again.”

“Short and sweet,” Stiles _winks_ at him, “Sometimes that works best.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Derek jumps when his phone goes off, and almost reluctantly he explains his sister is expecting him for brunch, puts his coffee cup down.

“Thanks a million,” Stiles says as he hovers at the door with Derek. “I owe you, man.”

Derek smiles slyly, “Just use the front door next time.”

Stiles laughs, “Oh, I will.”

Derek determinedly does not spend the rest of the day thinking about Stiles using his front door in the middle of the night, and appearing in Derek’s bedroom naked. He does not.

*

There’s a fire at a textile factory, dozens dead, Derek works for an entire day with his crew trying to put it out, rescue those still stuck inside.

He gets to the stairs of his apartment block, and it hits him in a wave of panic and stress and exhaustion. During a shift he never lets himself think about what they’re dealing with, stays focused on the task in hand and tries not to let anything else bother him. But, some of the people they were carrying out, they were just kids. Derek sits down heavily on the steps, stares at his dirty hands.

His breathing picks up, heart racing and he covers his face, tries to inhale deeply.

“Derek?”

It’s Stiles’ voice, and he shakes his head, feels Stiles’ hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Derek looks up, and Stiles’ eyes widen, “Holy shit, what happened?”

“’S’just ash and soot,” Derek wipes at his face—he must be covered in the stuff, “There was… a fire.”

“And, you went in?!”

“’S’my job, ‘m’fireman,” he slurs out, “It was just a bad one. Needed a minute.”

“How about you have a minute where it’s warm,” Stiles wheedles gently, tugging on his arm until Derek’s standing. He can’t help but lean into him, and he smells like fresh air and a woody, almost sweet aftershave. Derek resists the urge to bury his nose in Stiles’ neck—they don’t know each other that well—but it’s a tough thing. Stiles is the best thing he’s smelt all day.

“Well, thanks,” Stiles replies brightly, and Derek realises he must have mumbled that out loud. “I showered this morning and everything.”

Derek huffs a laugh, “Special occasion?”

“Oh, ha ha, no, I had a meeting with some of the lecturers in my department.”

“’S’that what you do?”

“Mhm, finished up my PhD last year, bona fide college lecturer right here,” Stiles’ casual tone is laced with pride, and Derek smiles faintly. “You got your keys handy?”

Derek fumbles through his pockets, produces his keys and Stiles takes them from him, unlocks the door.

“You did say use the front door next time,” he declares cheerfully.

Derek snorts, but lets Stiles guide him through the apartment until they’re seated on his couch. Stiles leans in close, helps Derek kick off his shoes. He has beautiful, long eye lashes, and Derek finds himself zoning out, staring at them.

Stiles blinks up at him, face cast in shadow in the dark room, “Tea?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Derek rasps out, “That would actually be really—how did you—”

“My dad’s the Sheriff back home,” Stiles straightens up, moves towards the kitchen and starts clinking cups around. “It always helped him after a difficult shift, something… familiar I guess?”

“That’s, yeah,” Derek leans back and shuts his eyes, “It does.”

Stiles wakes him a few minutes later, and Derek’s surprised he felt relaxed enough to drift off with a semi-stranger in his house. He supposes it’s maybe the easy, gentle manner Stiles is treating him with, or that Stiles has literally crashed through his ceiling and it seems to have bonded them a little. Either way, he takes the tea gratefully.

“You need anything else?”

“No,” he says quickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you out or—”

“Derek,” Stiles holds up a hand, “You were clearly having a bad moment, and I’ve been there, we all have. I’m just happy to have helped. ‘S’what good neighbours do, right? Fix each other’s floorboards, trade tea, sugar, pie.”

Derek almost laughs, “Pie?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I make a _world class_ apple pie,” Stiles points at him, “And I will prove it to you just as soon as my kitchen is safe to use again.”

“I look forward to it.”

Stiles gives him a shy smile, and then ducks his head, waves him a goodbye.

Derek feels much better than he did an hour ago, and when he pads into the kitchen to put his cup away, notices Stiles has scrawled his number on the fridge board, written underneath _“IF U EVER NEED ANYTHING, A LIFT OR SOME SUGAR OR A HUG. CALL ME. OR KNOCK. U KNOW… never mind.”_

He laughs and goes to bed, his sleep free of the nightmares he sometimes gets after a difficult job.

*

Derek leaves a three pack of socks outside Stiles’ door one day, and in return Stiles knocks on his and presents him with pie. They sit on Derek’s couch and eat it together with some sort of extreme biker competition on the tv in the background. Stiles crows excitedly at all the dangerous leaps, and Derek shudders at the possible injury situations.

“You ever had to go to an event like that?”

“Yeah,” Derek shrugs, “Sometimes.”

“Best injury?”

“No injury is a good injury, Stiles.”

“Psshw, c’mon,” Stiles jostles his knee as he turns to him, bright smile and warm eyes on Derek.

Derek clutches his plate a little tighter just looking at him.

“Uh,” he racks his brain for a good story, not wanting to disappoint, “We had a guy that had tried to ride one of those little kid’s plastic ponies, you know, that move up and down but don’t go anywhere?”

“Yeah?”

“And, he got stuck in it.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah, we had to cut the thing apart—made a kid watching cry.”

Stiles throws his head back as he laughs, and Derek eats another piece of pie, smiling softly as he watches him.

*

“I have seeds!”

Derek blinks sleepily at Stiles, brandishing packages in his face.

“Okay?”

“Oh shit,” Stiles’ excited face falls, and he steps back out of Derek’s doorway, “Did I wake you?”

“Sort of,” Derek rubs his face, glances at his watch, “I should have been getting up anyway. It’s okay, come in.”

“No, dude, it’s cool, I was just being an idiot—”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, “Get in the damn door before I drag you in.”

“Oohhh, caveman like,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “Will you be throwing me over your shoulder, or like a round- the- waist hold—” he snaps his fingers, “Bridal style? Do you have to carry guys like that, too? Like, on average how many of them complain about it? Do people experience that hero syndrome? I know I did. Totally fell for you, _literally_.”

Derek lets Stiles’ switches in conversation flow around him as he makes coffee, scratches at his stomach, watches Stiles settle in at his kitchen table. He wonders when it became something familiar, something that makes his stomach warm.

“Yo, big guy,” Stiles waves a hand in front of him, “I know my face is a feat that must be admired but… you okay? You totally zoned out on me, there.”

Derek startles, bats his hand away, “You were rambling, I assumed it was safe to stop listening.”

“Oh, ha ha, how’d you know I didn’t say something of utmost importance?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

“Marriage proposal, role play,” Stiles ticks off the topics on his fingers—and Derek gazes at them longingly—“Suggestion of swinging, then I realised a swing in either of apartments would probably bring the whole building down,” Stiles sniggers at his own wit, and Derek rolls his eyes fondly.

“So, nothing important at all.”

“Ass,” Stiles throws his arms around his seeds, “See if I let you help, now.”

“What exactly am I missing out on?” Derek sits down next to him, pushes a coffee cup towards Stiles that he takes gratefully.

“Makin’ the house a home,” Stiles inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut in a way that makes Derek want to shift in his seat a little.

“A house a home?”

“Yeah,” Stiles gestures at the seeds, “Planting new life, also plants are good at eliminating air pollution—”

Derek snorts, and Stiles waves a hand at him.

“Laugh now, but we live in New York, dude. This place is a sesspool.”

“You chose this apartment, _and_ this city.”

“Man, I love New York,” Stiles shrugs, “There’s something about the pulse of it, you know? Even when it’s night it’s never really… You’re not alone. And,” he smirks up at Derek, “I picked the apartment because I saw a handsome man collecting his mail here when I was checking it out. I was sold instantly.”

Derek feels his jaw drop, “You did not choose this apartment because of me.”

“Egotistical much? I was talking about Mr Edison from downstairs.”

“Rude,” Derek huffs, and pretends his heart isn’t racing just from Stiles’ insinuation.

*

“Here,” Stiles hands Derek a bag of groceries when he’s dragging himself up the stairs one Thursday. It’s been a long shift and he’s confused as to why Stiles is giving him groceries.

“Do you need me to carry these for you?”

“No,” Stiles laughs, “I picked them up for you, earlier. Was waitin’ till you were inside to bring ‘em down, but you took forever walking up the stairs.”

“Tired.”

“ _Old_ ,” Stiles teases.

Derek grunts his displeasure and Stiles laughs, carries on heading down the stairs. “Anyway, I knew you were on a shift, and I figured you wouldn’t have time, so…” he shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly seeming embarrassed. “I just thought, it’s always nice to have bread?”

“Thanks,” Derek says hoarsely, gripping the bag tight so he won’t do anything stupid like hug him forever.

“No worries,” Stiles darts down the stairs, “I gotta jet, class and all, get some sleep!”

He watches him go for a moment, and then trudges up to his apartment, unpacks the groceries. Stiles has bought him tea bags. Derek smiles to himself as he puts them away.

*

The second time Stiles appears _unexpectedly_ in Derek’s apartment, it’s a whole lot less amusing.

Stiles’ shower leaks so badly Derek has to start keeping a bucket in his own bath. He tolerates it for a day or two, and then Stiles must be taking a late shower because Derek’s awoken by an almighty crash, and Stiles’ bath halfway through his own bathroom’s ceiling. Derek falls out of bed, stumbles towards the open bathroom door and watches as more of the tub creeks towards him. Stiles is yelling, his panic obvious, and Derek starts, flees his bedroom altogether.

He flies up the stairs to Stiles’ place, and slams through the door—thank god Stiles hasn’t remembered to lock up—and launches himself into the bathroom to catch Stiles.

“Jesus! Jesus! Fuck!” Stiles is naked, very naked, but pale as a sheet, and Derek ignores the long, wet limbs clinging to him in favour of pulling Stiles out into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Stiles continues to moan, eyes wide in shock. “Shitting fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Derek keeps his arm wrapped around him, holds him tightly.

Stiles begins to shiver, and Derek looks behind them to spot a blanket on the bed, throws it over them.

“Take some deep breaths,” he murmurs.

“I’m—trying—” Stiles’ nails are digging into his arm painfully, but he refuses to say anything. He knows what shock can do to someone, rides it out with him on the floor.

“God,” Stiles’ head falls back on his shoulder eventually, and he seems to gather his senses. “Oh my god, am I naked? Did that really happen? Your bathroom!”

“ _You_ ,” Derek reminds him, “Christ, you nearly died.”

“I need to call the landlord again,” Stiles groans.

“You need a new place.”

“We both need new places!”

Derek laughs, and Stiles flexes his toes, twists to look up at Derek, “Motel?”

“No, we can—I mean, if you don’t have anywhere else close by, my best friends are two blocks over. They’d have us for the night.”

“Anywhere the floor isn’t caving beneath me is good. I’ll get my shit,” Stiles rolls to a stand, runs a hand through his damp hair.

Derek determinedly doesn’t look anywhere lower than his eyes.

“Hey, thanks,” Stiles says after a beat.

“For what?”

“Saving my life?!” Stiles waves a hand at his disintegrating bathroom, “I mean, shit, I was going down, man.”

Derek shrugs, feels his face heat up, “It’s—I—it was nothing,” he says finally. “Firefighter, remember?”

“Still,” Stiles smiles, rubs his back gingerly, “That was some quick thinking, I’m lucky you were home.”

Derek resolves to never leave his apartment again when Stiles is in. It’s for his safety, after all.

“Maybe I should start taking you to work,” he teases.

Stiles gives him a long, intense look, and then smirks, “I’d be more okay with that than you think, you know.”

Derek rolls his eyes, stands and swats at Stiles’ hip, “Don’t forget to pack some socks.”

*

Erica tells them to come over immediately, even gives Stiles a hug as she welcomes them in. Boyd gets on his lawyer face as soon as they arrive, disappears into his study to call their landlord. Erica pours them both a shot of vodka, sits them on the couch and _fusses_. She and Derek work together, so Derek’s used to her checking him over for cuts and bruises, but Stiles—quite obviously running high on adrenaline and al ot of nervous energy—gets jumpy and bristles when she touches him.

“Quit it,” Erica huffs. “I’m trying to help.”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“Your eyes are glazed over, and you’ve possibly got a concussion.”

“But, I’ve got vodka and the delightful fireman that saved my life sitting right next to me,” Stiles grins dopily, “I’m _fine_.”

Erica clucks her tongue, “You’re being a baby. Just let me look at your ass—you could have serious abrasions!”

“I do _not_ know you well enough for this!”

“You suggested we were going to star in a bad porno together the day we  _met_ ,” Derek reminds him casually.

Stiles goes bright red as Erica begins snickering.

“Fine!” Stiles stands, and shoves his sweats down in front of Erica. Derek averts his eyes—he’s truly being tested tonight—and Erica declares his ass scrape free.

“It’s not too bad,” she adds thoughtfully, “Cute, even.”

“It’s my second best asset,” Stiles sniffs as he sits down again.

“What’s first?”

“My eyes, duh.”

Derek nods in agreement without thinking, and both Stiles and Erica notice him do it. Erica arches an eyebrow, smug that her recent declaration Derek’s crushing on his neighbour is quite obviously true—but Derek ignores her in favour of feeling totally mortified.

“You think I have nice eyes?” Stiles asks, his momentary brash confidence gone as he looks at Derek earnestly.

“Yeah,” Derek coughs, leans back against the couch and then sits forward again. “Yeah, you know, they’re nice—I like—” he cuts a nervous glance at Stiles, “I like brown eyes.”

Stiles looks like Derek’s just told him the moon’s out front and Derek’s caught it for him.

“You have nice eyes, too,” he blurts out.

Derek ducks his head, “Thanks.”

“Jesus lord,” Erica mutters, standing and heading for the bathroom. “The reason you’re both still single is suddenly super clear.”

They’re both left in an embarrassed silence. When she returns a few minutes later with bedding, Derek still hasn’t been able to look Stiles in the eye, no matter how pretty they are.

*

“I used to love sleepovers,” Stiles confesses into the darkness an hour later.

Derek hums, props himself up on his elbow to look over at Stiles. He’s on the couch, and Derek’s on the airbed. Both of them had argued over who should take the couch—Stiles had insisted seeing as they were Derek’s friends, and it was Derek who had saved his life that Derek should have it; Derek had argued that Stiles had been through a harrowing experience and he’d feel bad if he took the couch; Erica had tossed a coin, shoved Stiles _gently_ towards the couch, and told them both breakfast was at eight and to shut up.

Stiles had muttered that he wasn’t sure why he liked her, and Derek had felt stupidly pleased inside. His friend circle is small, limited to Erica and Isaac from work, Boyd through Erica (though they’ve been firm friends since college), and his sisters. For some reason it would be distressing if Stiles didn’t get along with them.

He doesn’t want to look too closely at why, particularly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah with midnight snacks and sharing stories and shit; ‘s’like night time bonding,” Stiles shifts so that he’s looking at Derek, smiles a little, “People open up more when they’re in bed together.”

Derek huffs a laugh at the innuendo, rubs his face as he thinks of his own past, “Or wake up and regret their bedfellow.”

Stiles falls silent for a moment, and Derek worries he’s offended him. When he glances back at him, Stiles is smiling still and he shrugs, rolls onto his back again.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’d ever regret you,” he says softly.

Derek swallows in surprise, stares at him until Stiles’ breathing evens out and realises he’s _watching him sleep_.

He doesn’t know what to do about this ridiculous crush, or how to stop it.

*

Fortunately for his panicking heart, they don’t see each other much as their bathrooms are fixed up. Derek stays with Erica and Boyd, and Stiles goes to stay with the much spoken of best friend, Scott.

Derek misses Stiles, though; misses hearing him pace across the floor, planning out a lecture or talking on the phone; he misses him flinging out a hand to catch the elevator and beaming at Derek like it’s the bright spot to his day, too; he misses him randomly appearing at Derek’s door with take out or needing to borrow sugar. He even misses the awful puns Stiles makes about them being so neighbourly, or about Derek’s tool belt, or Stiles needing some company that isn’t a computer for the night—

That one wasn’t so much a pun as a sweet moment that had made Derek give up having an early night, and let Stiles in to watch Ghostbusters with him.

Stiles fell asleep on his shoulder and Derek had smiled stupidly at the television for an hour.

It’s for the best they’re not spending so much time together. Really, Derek has more time to focus on himself, and… Everything he did before.

Which was… going to the gym! He likes the gym. No one bothers him at the gym, no one talks him into spending an afternoon potting sunflower seeds, or lounging around for a whole Sunday watching a Simpsons marathon. Derek gains a good three pounds of muscle mass, and has to buy new shirts to fit.

Then he loses it going on a running binge and without Stiles constantly insisting they have take out nights, _every night_.

“I think you were dating him in your head,” Erica tells him as they leave work together.

Derek’s just gotten a text from Stiles declaring he’s home and demanding to see Derek’s GLORIOUS FACE, and he’d been smiling at his phone. Erica had guessed it was Stiles just from the _look_ on his face.

“We were not—we are not— we’re not, _shut up_.”

“Concise, babe.”

“Stiles was right, I don’t know why I like you, either,” he grumbles.

Erica snickers, “You brought him up again, Jesus Christ, just buy him a steak dinner and tell him you wanna ride his dick. It’s not that difficult.”

“Easy for you to say; you’ve been dating Boyd since you were nineteen. One relationship in a decade.”

“Yeah, honey,” Erica pulls a face, “Same as you, remember?”

Derek scowls, “Like I need reminding.”

“I’m not trying to bring you down—”

“Well, you’re doing a bang up job, anyway.”

“Derek,” Erica catches his arm before they get to his car, blows the hair out of her face. “I just mean that you’ve had plans outside of lunch with me and Laura three Sundays in a row, and this week aside, you and Stiles seem like you have dinner together every other day!”

“So?”

“So, maybe you’re in this more than you wanted to be, maybe you do have strong feelings, but it doesn’t have to be scary! You’ve had time to grieve about Kate, time to move on and now… Now you _have_ , and you shouldn’t revert to form just because it’s safer, more familiar. You should take a chance.”

“But, what if—” Derek’s phone chirps again, and it’s a picture of Stiles standing in front of the sunflower plants, slowly beginning to shoot up. He’s beaming and giving a thumbs up. Derek melts.

“Just don’t bang your way through the floorboards, hmm? Boyd and I need our living room back for couch sex.”

Derek scrunches up his nose at her in return.

*

Stiles and Derek sit on the fire escape and argue about Return of the Jedi versus New Hope for best Star Wars movie. Derek pretends he’s feeling better than he has in a week because he’s got food in his belly and it’s started to snow; he loves snow.

It’s nothing at all to do with Stiles smiling at him softly, or the way he touches Derek’s arm, or helps him wash up their plates before going to bed. It’s not even to do with the hug they share, long and lingering and with Stiles burying his face in Derek’s neck and sighing contentedly the way Derek desperately wants to

_Nothing at all._

*

Someone sets the fire alarm off one night, and Derek panics, goes up the stairs to Stiles’ before even thinking about getting out. Stiles looks baffled, sleepy and _adorable_. He stands outside next to Derek in his underwear, yawning and shivering. _In his underwear_. Derek manfully ignores his broad shoulders, and long legs, _again_ , and hands Stiles his sweater while he talks to Erica about what caused it. 

Turns out Kat Jones went out for the night and forgot to turn her hair straighteners off. 

"Can’t believe I didn’t even get to be carried out here bridal style by you,” Stiles grumbles as they make their way back inside.

Derek huffs a laugh, sweeps him up in his arms on the last set of stairs. Stiles squawks in surprise but his hands fly up to hold on to Derek’s t-shirt, and he beams up at Derek. 

“And Iiiiii, will always—”

“Don’t,” Derek cuts him off. 

Stiles laughs, but when Derek deposits him at the door he smiles bashfully, punches Derek on the arm, “You’re awesome, man, thanks.”

“Just go to bed, and don’t get yourself into any trouble before dawn.”

“Yessir,” Stiles salutes him, disappears inside. 

*

He wears Derek’s sweater for a week before seeming to remember it’s Derek and trying to return it. Derek shrugs it off, says Stiles can use it in emergencies. Stiles keeps wearing it, and Derek can’t help staring every time he does.

*

One night Derek finds himself, _carefully_ , telling Stiles a little bit about Kate. About how she didn’t take their break up well—he thought they’d mutually reached a natural end point, she thought he was going to marry her and open her up to his family’s rather vast wealth—and set his parent’s house on fire.

“Shit,” Stiles breathes out.

Derek swallows, picks at a piece of satay chicken.

“They were out, but we got the call and on the drive over I kept thinking—it’s always real, the fires are always real, but for the first time it was happening to me. I wasn’t much use to the squad that night.”

“They had your back, though,” Stiles squeezes his arm, “That’s what we do, right? People you care about, you don’t wanna burn them down, or break them, you help them.”

Derek looks over at him and nods wordlessly.

“At least,” Stiles peeks up at him through his lashes, “I would. I’d want to look after you, I care about you and you’re… I don’t think you’re as unbreakable as you pretend to be.”

Derek snorts, and Stiles squeezes his hand, “Shut up! I mean it, okay; I just think you deserve to be… protected, too. I really—”

He’s not sure who moves first, but they’re inching together and Stiles’ nose is brushing his, his eyes fluttering shut as he trails off—

There’s an almighty crash outside the window and they leap apart in shock.

“What the hell?” Stiles hurries to look through the glass, groans as he looks down, “My sunflowers!”

His entire window ledge and the flowerbox resting on it have fallen to the ground beneath them. His sunflowers are totally ruined, and the frame’s jerked his window out of place, too.

They seal up the window with some quick fix glue Derek has, but Stiles still looks glum as he stares at the empty space where his window box was.

“They had a good run, considering they shouldn’t have even been alive at all in this weather,” he says comfortingly.

“They were hardy,” Stiles sighs.

Derek has to buy Stiles an actual ice cream cone, despite it being November, to cheer him up.

Stiles may or may not rest his head on Derek’s shoulder as they walk back to their apartment block together, and then they may or may not bashfully, awkwardly hug goodbye for a minute too long.

*

There’s a knock on Derek’s front door a week later, and when he opens it Stiles is standing in front of him in a tux. Derek wishes he wasn’t holding a spoon that he slowly lowers from his mouth in shock.

“Uh.”

“I need your help!” Stiles brandishes a bow tie at him, expression frantic. “I have the dress rehearsal in less than an hour and I can’t make this stupid thing work! Lydia will kill me if I turn up without it!”

“Okay,” Derek puts his spoon down on the hall table, makes a gimme gesture at Stiles’ tie.

“You’re not going to strangle me with it, are you?”

“Why would I—”

“I know I kept you up last night pacing.”

Derek smirks, “Nervous about that speech you planned six months ago?”

“Shut up! It was perfect, but I’ve had a revelation about love and stuff, recently,” Stiles gives him a strange look and then stares at the ceiling, “And, I had to change it all.”

Derek swallows hard, unsure as to what Stiles is implying, but his heart beating double time nonetheless. Before Stiles, he was safe living his life as a hermit in a quiet, shitty apartment building where the next possible dating opportunity would have been Ms Galdy from three down, eighty nine and single. He doesn’t know how to deal with Stiles and all his long limbs and big smiles. He doesn’t know what to do about the way Stiles makes him feel; like he’s too big for himself, like he’s at once capable of taking on the world, but more than happy to stay home and wrap himself around Stiles forever.

Six months of Stiles working his way under Derek’s skin with his ridiculous jokes and joyful spirit. He’s the opposite of what Derek thought he would want, and he doesn’t know what to do with it all, it’s all too much!

Wrapping his fingers around silk and pressing them close to Stiles’ neck, touching bare skin and feeling Stiles’ breath against his face, it is _too much._

Derek is going to _combust_.

“There,” he says after a moment, steps away quickly. “You’re all set.”

“Cool,” Stiles tugs at his collar, beams at him, “How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

“Thanks,” Stiles looks at him for a moment, and then rubs the back of his neck, “Hey, uh, do you wanna come with?”

Derek blinks at him, “What.”

“I’m not asking you to go as my date to a wedding before I’ve even— I’m not that—you know—I just thought, you’re home, and it’s Friday night and well, there’s an open bar?”

“I don’t know,” Derek hedges, “I don’t have a tux,” he gestures down at his sweats and wishes he’d maybe answered the door in something a little less ratty in the first place.

“C’mon,” Stiles clutches his hands together, “If I go with someone, maybe I won’t be peer pressured into hooking up with a random bridesmaid. Allison’s cousins are _terrifying_.”

Derek snorts, “There isn’t a _rule_ about the best man and bridesmaids, Stiles.”

“But, everyone thinks I’m lonely, and I’m not, I’m just picky! I like—one person at a time and I can’t… I don’t want to just leap into bed with someone else.”

Now that, Derek can relate to.

“Okay,” he jerks his head towards his bedroom, “Just let me put on something a little more decent.”

“Aw, really?” Stiles smirks as he looks Derek up and down, “I don’t know, you look very fetching in those to me.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “What if _I_ want to woo a bridesmaid?”

Stiles has the audacity to laugh, and Derek scowls at him all the way to his bedroom.

*

“Scotty!” Stiles tugs on Derek’s arm, pulls him towards a couple at the entrance to the hotel restaurant.

Derek feels vaguely out of place amongst all the nicely groomed, neat people. He’s not shaved in a month or two, only had one suit that he wore to his niece’s christening over a year ago, and he got nervous in the car, ran his fingers through his hair a lot. Fortunately, Stiles’ friends don’t seem to mind. Scott beams and shakes his hand, and the girl—Allison, he remembers—takes Derek’s hand and grins slyly at Stiles.

“So, you’re _The_ Derek?”

“Yes,” he lifts an eyebrow, “Should I be worried?”

“No,” she giggles, “The story of how you met is far more embarrassing for Stiles.”

“Hey!” Stiles elbows her lightly, “You said I didn’t come off that badly! Dude,” he turns to Derek, “You remember! It wasn’t my fault, right?”

Derek glances between Stiles and his friends, smiles teasingly, “I don’t know, you are very heavy footed.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open in shock as Allison and Scott break into more laughter. Stiles pretends to stamp on Derek’s foot, stalks off towards the bar.

“I’m glad you came,” Scott says to Derek.

“Uh, you are?”

“Yeah, man, it’s nice to know someone’s looking after Stiles now he’s by himself.”

Allison pats his arm, “He’s a worrier, and it’s not like Stiles is twenty seven years old, a _grown man_ that can pay rent and vote.”

“Babe! He’s not used to being alone all the time—”

“It’s okay,” Derek interrupts, “It’s fine, he’s fine, we—we all look out for each other in our building.”

Scott looks immediately more at ease, and Allison gives him a warm, somewhat _knowing_ smile.

Derek flees the looks, goes to find Stiles. Instead of just Stiles, however, he’s introduced to both Stiles’ father, and Scott’s mother, and apparently Stiles’ most important friends (outside of Scott and Derek, of course, he promises with a wink at Derek) Lydia and Danny.

Lydia is as beautiful in person as she looks in photographs, and Danny’s charming, just a little sharp in the same way Stiles is. Derek wades through conversations with all of them, tries his best to keep up with their banter, and when he starts to feel light headed from it all, Stiles’ hand seems to sneak to rest on his back, carefully reminding him he’s got Derek’s back.

“So, a fireman,” Lydia directs across to him when the dinner is done and they’re propping up the bar.

“Yep.”

Derek’s ready to feel offended, or defend his job, but Lydia nods approvingly, gives him what he suspects is her version of a warm smile.

“Have you had to rescue Stiles from any trees, yet?”

“Hey!” Stiles abandons the conversation he was having with Allison in order to interrupt. “Why would I be up a tree?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you be,” she teases, turning to pick up her purse, “Regardless,” she gives Derek a once over, “I’m relieved to know someone’s keeping an eye on you. Your visits to the ER have dramatically lessened since meeting Derek.”

“That’s because I’m not living with Scott any more! Scott was the reason for all my injuries!” Stiles calls after her, “It’s all his fault!”

Scott’s mom Melissa clears her throat from behind them, and Stiles drops back into his seat sheepishly.

“Uh, I was just—I didn’t mean—”

“Stiles,” Derek touches his arm, “I think my jacket’s still in the cloakroom, can we—”

“Yes!” Stiles jumps up, grabs Derek’s hand, “Sorry, Melissa, really, about everything!”

He tugs Derek around the corner and out towards the lobby, twists to clutch his chest and point at Derek, “How do you always know when I need rescuing?!”

“It’s a gift,” Derek shrugs smugly.

Stiles narrows his eyes at him as they slow to a more sedate pace. Derek notices they’re still holding hands. He doesn’t let go, and Stiles doesn’t either.

“It is,” Stiles says quietly after a moment, looking down at their hands and then running his free one along the front of the cloakroom desk. “Hey, you know,” he clears his throat, lets go of Derek’s hand in favour of shoving both his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t pacing because I had a speech to finish, last night.”

“Oh?”

“Nah, did that weeks ago,” Stiles quirks a smile at him, “You think Lydia would let me get away with handing in anything last minute?”

“She told me to shave before the wedding,” Derek tells him flatly. “Though, I haven’t actually been invited.”

Stiles lets out a strangled laugh, “Yeah, well, see, here’s the thing—I mean— I was thinking, like, you and me—” he starts tracing patterns on the counter, and Derek catches his hand, squeezes it.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Right, sorry,” Stiles wets his lips, “I was gonna ask you to go to the wedding with me. As my date. But, I got nervous, and I kept talking myself out of it, like why would you even wanna go with me? I’m the dude that fell through your ceiling! I break stuff just looking at it, I can’t _fix_ things and I can’t do a fireman’s lift, or—”

“You have _me_ for those,” Derek blurts out suddenly.

Stiles pauses, shoulders deflating, “I, what?”

“I don’t mind doing that stuff, I like… looking out for you, but really you—you look after me. You’re—you’re like _sunshine_ , or something,” he finishes with lamely. “I can’t explain it, you just make me feel… a lot. Better. Happier. Brighter.”

“Sunshine,” Stiles echoes.

“It’s stupid,” Derek huffs, “I’ll just go—”

“Don’t—” Stiles lurches forward, cups Derek’s face and _kisses_ him.

Derek makes a noise of surprise as Stiles presses in close, and his hands fall to Stiles’ hips, tugging him even closer still as they kiss.

It’s warm and sweet and soft in ways Derek wasn’t expecting it to be, but had perhaps maybe hoped it _would_ be. Stiles might be brash and sharp and throw himself around like he’s invincible, but underneath he’s still careful, still touches Derek like he’s something precious. His fingers are stroking down Derek’s face, drifting around to thread through his hair, and Derek pulls away slightly to look him in the eye.

“You wanna—” he clears his throat, “You wanna go home?”

“Actually,” Stiles grins, bites his lip, and it looks red and lush from their kiss. Derek lets his gaze linger on it without worrying Stiles will judge him. He’s pretty sure Stiles is dragging one of his hands along the muscles in his back as though memorizing them, already.

“I got a room.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, ages ago, for the wedding, and uh, we could—I don’t think our apartments could possibly stand any sort of enthusiastic activity.”

Derek chokes on a laugh, lifts his eyebrows, “You think I’m gonna put out that quick?”

Stiles shrugs, “I was talking about the big shave you’re gonna have to have tomorrow,” he pats Derek’s beard fondly, and Derek scowls at him.

“I’m definitely not putting out, now.”

*

He’s a _liar_.

They have sex in the shower—and Stiles mumbles about ironies and laughs against Derek’s mouth—Derek can’t think past Stiles’ skin, wet and slick against his, Stiles’ eyes wide and surprised as they touch, Stiles’ hands on him, Stiles everywhere, surrounding him.

“At least this bed’s not gonna fall in on us,” Stiles muses idly where they’re laid out on said hotel bed in the early hours.

Derek nods against his shoulder, “’S’good.”

“Eloquent,” Stiles snickers, twisting into him and shoving until Derek lifts his arm, lets Stiles squirm into his side.

“Shu’up, you’re terrible, wish you never fell through my ceiling.”

“Liar!”

Derek grins stupidly, kisses whatever skin’s closest, “’M’glad.”

“Me too. I like you so much. It was driving me crazy knowing you were downstairs and I was stuck upstairs and—”

“I knew you did the bathroom thing on purpose.”

“Asshole! That one really hurt, you know.”

“I know,” Derek frowns, “Can’t happen again, nah uh, you nearly died.”

“Lucky I had a super awesome fireman living just underneath me.”

Derek freezes in place, opens his eyes to look at Stiles steadily, “You meant all that stuff, right? Every time you were saying something like that you—you meant it.”

“Duh,” Stiles rolls his eyes and kisses him quickly, “I told you I _liked_ you, liked you.”

“I _like_ you, like you, too,” Derek huffs back.

“Obviously. I mostly just took your silences to mean it,” Stiles grins, and Derek kisses him again because yeah, they did.

*

Stiles’ front door falls in on them when they’re kissing against it, home from the wedding and loath to part.

Stiles looks down at it in shock, clutching Derek’s jacket like a lifeline.

Derek’s still a little hazy on what’s happening, distracted by Stiles’ talented mouth and the fact he was just slipping his hands into Stiles’ pants.

“Uh, so, I guess I need a place to crash tonight?”

“Or, we could just move,” Derek suggests.

Stiles blinks at him in shock, “What, together?”

Derek shrugs, “Somewhere your sunflowers won’t die because of gravity defeating your window sill.”

“Some place closer to the fire station so you’re not doubly exhausted from the commute.”

Derek smiles, wide and happy at the fact Stiles is thinking about his well being, has always thought about it, cared for him, about him, likes him enough to consider something this big, this fast.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Good bathroom, though,” Stiles warns, “Maybe somewhere on the bottom floor?”

“The only time you should be falling is into my arms,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles groans and socks him on the shoulder.

“What,” Derek protests, even as he’s laughing, “You can make puns, and I can’t?”

“Mine are funny!”

Derek slings an arm over Stiles’ shoulder, begins leading him carefully down the stairs, “They are?”

“Yeah, you’re just not listening properly.”

“There’s a way to listen properly?”

“Ugh, shut up, I don’t know why I love you at all.”

Derek grins at the ceiling, knows if he trips down the stairs, at least Stiles’ll help him back up.


End file.
